1: Kot bal Ijaa
by kiku65
Summary: A shortish story set in the clone wars.With a full cast of clone commandos,Jedi Padawans,Mandalorian trainers and other children of the Republic. NO MARYSUES. I swear by grannies grave. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Kot bal Ijaa**

A short story, written because I like clones and Mando in general and also because the storyline had refused to leave my head for the last month. Stars my very own squad of clone commandos, the one who trained them...and a rather special Jedi.

Alright, it's got OCs. So what: P

XXXXXXXX

**Prologue**

**2nd year of the Clone Wars, Stronghold, Taldot sector.**

"3...2...1... _down down down_!"

Zip, RC-3662, threw himself to the floor as a blast of metal, meat and rock fragment flew over his head. Ignoring the agonised screams from just ahead, he yelled into the channel.

"_Neutralised_!"

A reply fuzzed over through the static. "Coming up. Do _not _engage until we are with you."

Zip muttered something rude, and shouted back down, "Copy that, Aine. Will restrained my natural homicidal instincts until you grace us with your presence."

"Zip it, Zip. Crash, what's your location?"

A characteristically blunt answer filtered through. "Near him."

Zip could almost hear Aines' eyes rolling over the link. "Succinct as ever, _ner vod_. Hold on tight."

"Copy..."suddenly the sound of yells mixed with blasterfire rolled up from Crash. "Engaged! B1 battle droids and hunter-killers!"

"Fall back to Zip! We're coming up."

More yells sounded, and Zip thought he could hear concussion booms. "Negative sergeant. Retreat cut off by..." a burst of white noise sounded.

"Crash, repeat. What's cutting you off?"

"... dwarf... droid. Moving for safer position coordinates Delta-Delta-143."

"Copy that Crash. Zip, retreat down so we can pick you up on the way."

"Copied sarge." All thoughts of jubilance or mockery had fled from Zips minds, banished by the danger of his brother. You couldn't joke about a brothers' life being threatened. If you did, you'd never _stop_.

"Slice, fall in and cover our backs. Zip, you're with me. Get an EMP ready."

Zip wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. "An EMP? Are you sure?"

"Affirmative. It's either that or call a retreat- _without_ Crash."

Zip swallowed. Leaving a brother behind... no way. No way at all.

"Alright sarge. Ready in 3...2..."

An EMP- or Electro-Magnetic Pulse- was an explosion used by troopers and commandos to wipe out droid circuits. Unfortunately it couldn't be used specifically for droids; any clone caught in the way would lose all HUD and other sensors in his helmet display for a few seconds, rendering him temporarily helpless.

But if there was a choice between risking his brother for a while or leaving him to fry, Zip knew what he would choose.

"1... _down_!"

This explosion was softer in quality, and ended with a quiet puttering and clanking of deactivated droids. A shaky voice came over the com...

"Nice, Zip."

"I enjoy my work bro." He smiled inside his helmet as he said so. As if a clone commando wouldn't enjoy his work.

"Do a sweep." It was Aine, coldly efficient as always. "Bio scans and electrical. Let's make doubly sure on this."

Slice knelt down and opened up his scanner. Strings of green data started to flash before him, while Crash covered their backs.

Zip shifted slightly as Slice looked up. "No droids around, sarge."

"Wets?"

"None..." suddenly the screen flashed an alarm, and he swore. "One heading towards us. He's on his own."

"No backup? No droids?"

"Nothing, he..." the pad flickered and blared again. "Shit!"

"What is it?"

"It won't identify his weapon... whatever it is it's high-energy, with a cell-based power supply. Not a blaster by the looks of it."

Aine was silent, perhaps because there was no need to speak. Everyone present knew of at least one type of high-energy weapon that ran on power cells, but none wanted to say what.

Especially since there had been no Jedi dropped on Stronghold, nor were there any scheduled to be.

"Alright," Zip heard Aine mutter, "Let's go take a look. Crash, cover us."

They moved forward cautiously, DC-17s cocked and aimed underarm, feet silent on the dusty rock floor of the tunnel. They slid around the corner and immediately crouched into firing stances.

Standing in the middle of the tunnel was a medium-sized young Arkanian male, dressed in dark coloured robes that resembled those of a Jedi. His hands were held loosely at his side and his gaze was mild.

Aine called out, switching channels to public projection. "Please identify, FOF?" FOF stood for Friend Or Foe, a piece of military paraphernalia that the brass had never seen fit to get rid of.

The possible Jedi merely stood calmly, not appearing to hear them. Zip started to wonder if he was doing something Jedi-ish, perhaps trying to contact his nearest fellow Force-users.

Aine called out again, "Please identify, are you Separatist or Republic? Are you lost?"

This time the man raised his head, and Zip felt a chill. He could no explain it, but he started to have a bad feeling about the whole situation.

The voice that issued from his mouth was dry, and low. "Well, sergeant, I can satisfy one of those questions but not both. Which would you rather I answered?"

Aine stood firm, declining to be drawn in to any mysticism. "Sir, I would rather you answered our first question- are you a Jedi or an enemy?"

"Well," was the response, "I am certainly not a Jedi. Does that make me an adversary?"

Aine refused to answer. "As a potential threat I must ask you to lay down any arms you might have and come with us. Base command can decide what you are."

The Arkanian did not move, but gazed at them. Zip thought he saw both pity and condescension in his eyes. "Sergeant, I suspect you might be about to find out for yourself."

That was enough of a threat for both Zip and Crash to swing up their DCs and fire, before red light flashed and their blaster muzzles fell to the floor. As they activated the vibroblades in their gloves, Slice ran forward in an effort to cover their momentary lapse in defence.

The Arkanian- now brandishing a brilliant red lightsaber- swung towards the clone commando and flipped his blade almost casually. Slice's blaster met the same fate as his brothers, but unlike them, no-one was near enough to help him. Even as Aine took aim, the lightsaber flashed again.

Slice crumpled to the ground, a smoking hole where his heart had been.

There was a brief second that for Zip lasted forever, as Aine fired only to have his own bolt deflected on him. The lightsaber swung again, too fast to see, and as Zip blinked afterimage from his eyes he saw Aine sink to the ground as well, clutching his arm.

His hand lay with his blaster, more than a metre away.

Zip knew, right then, that this was not a fight they were going to walk away from.

* * *

**I hate killing people off. Grrr.**

**Next chap will be uploaded shortly, but its gonna be a short one. Patience.**

T


	2. Duty of command

**1: Duty of command**

_I trained them. I walked into a room full of biological twelve year olds, __and I taught them all I knew about fighting and surviving battle. I did the very best I could to ensure__that they could meet me after this damn war and laugh at how frightened they had been.__to do that I had to be more than a sergeant to them. I had to be Ori'vod. A big sister. __If you have any objections to that, take it up with me in person._

_-message from Reuma Seritole (sgt, GAR) to Admiral Baraka of the _Nexu

**1 day later, in orbit above the planet Stronghold**

Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker ran towards the bulkhead of the Republic cruiser _Nexu_. Separatist forces had regrouped in one of the systems many asteroid belts, and he had just come back from a recce mission deep into the fields. No sooner had he docked aboard the cruiser than had his Master called him up to the control centre, with urgent news.

Anakin liked urgent news. It usually meant something interesting was going to happen.

Obi-Wan sat in the light of a dozen data screens, diligently scanning each for information. His Padawan would be the only one to notice, but the war was changing him in endlessly different ways, from grey hairs, to a few extra lines, to an even more sombre attitude. Anakin had never thought before the war that his Master might be able to get _more_ serious.

"You are here." Obi-Wans voice was as tired as his face. "A scout group of clone commandos has gone missing on Stronghold. I need you to track them down."

_Blunt as ever_. Anakin frowned with puzzlement. "Master, I am sorry for the clones, but why am_ I _being sent? Why not another squad?"

Obi-wan slumped in his chair. "There was a... disturbing report. One of the clones managed to send vidfeed of their last confrontation. The footage..."

He gestured at one of the data screens, and pressed the activators. Anakin watched the drama unfold in front of him, and suddenly understood perfectly.

A rogue Jedi. Killing their troops.

No wonder he had been sent for immediately.

"When are we leaving, Master?"

Obi-Wans face crooked into a small smile. "_You_ will be leaving within the hour, Padawan. I, unfortunately, must stay onboard the _Nexu_."

That was interesting. His Master had never before let him hunt down a potential threat alone. Somehow he doubted he was going to be allowed to fly completely solo.

"Will I be accompanied Master?"

The smile grew a little, and for a moment his master looked almost cheerful. "Just one person, Anakin. Sergeant Seritole requested she be sent down with any team to retrieve them. She was... most insistent."

Anakin winced. He had a bad feeling about this.

XXXXXXXX

"_He _what"

At his terminal, Admiral Baraka frowned. The Mon Cal was not used to lax discipline, but certain incidents earlier had made him realise that with some individuals, it was easier just to go along with them. Arguing didn't get anyone anywhere.

"General Kenobi has seen fit to send his Padawan down to search for Jenth. He deemed it unnecessary to send any other support."

The face hovering over his receiver looked less than happy about this. "_Are we talking the same Padawan here? Anakin Skywalker, Chosen One and poster boy of the Republic?_"

"The very same," he said sharply.

"_Him? He couldn't find his own arse with an atlas!_"

That did it. Lax discipline among certain subordinates was one thing, but open insults to the leaders of the GAR was another. This situation on his ship only worked if these two parties openly tolerated each other, and kept their private thoughts _private_.

"Anakin Skywalker is a very capable young man," he uttered coldly, "This is not up for discussion. You may or may not search for those clones yourself, but regardless of what _you_ do, _he_ will be looking for them as well. Working _with_ him might just get those commandos back alive."

"_Working_ with_ him might just get us all killed. Have you _seen _his record_?"

"Regardless of that, he is still the best that can be offered at this particular time. If you have any problems with this, then speak to General Kenobi."

The face glowered sullenly, knowing full well that any more delays in setting out could spell doom for the surviving three men. A perfunctory salute flickered onscreen, before the blue light winked out.

Baraka leaned back with a sigh. One could almost pity the Jedi being sent down.


	3. Not yet a Jedi

**2: Not yet a Jedi **

_Reuma doesn't like Jedi. Yes, she has known some and __made friends of them, but she does not like us as __an Order. This is not unusual among Mandalorians, and __in no way affects her performance in battle. _

_- General Kenobi on an encrypted message to the Jedi council._

Anakin jumped out of his modified Jedi Starfighter and looked around for his temporary partner. A faint movement- made perhaps by a stray gust of the hyperwinds that scoured the planets surface- caught his eye, and the figure crouched underneath a nearby overhang became visible.

Unless you knew what and who you were looking at, the person sheltering in the hanger bay was not particularly imposing or intimidating. Its garb- a long green coat and greyish pants hiding a red chestplate and bracers- was well-tended but worn enough for the being to be mistaken for a normal scruffy spacer just docked from a supply run. The scuffed hide boots and well-tended blaster only added to this image.

The body occupying the clothes was a little more unusual, but not extraordinarily so. A tolerant Republic saw some instances of crossbreeding, so some aspects of her- the swept-back rainbow coloured mane, the Kiffar facial tattoos and prominent canines- could pass without a second glance. Even the piercing gold eyes could be forgotten after an hour or so.

Less easy to forget was the volatile temper and the deep dislike of any authority...Force-granted or not. Or the scars. She had never satisfactorily explained how she had acquired them, but they gave her the appearance of someone who had walked bare-faced through a cobwebby room.

Anakin approached the being with trepidation, noticing as he did so the crest of hair rising on top of her head. He had known her- _of_ her- long enough to realise the instinctive response, a by-product of whatever genes had been spliced into her DNA. Fight or flight, a reaction to any perceived a threat. He mused over this, knowing she regarded him as less of a threat to her than to the men she had trained and looked after.

She pulled herself straighter lazily and gave a half-hearted salute. He returned it.

"Sergeant Seritole reporting for the rescue operation. Care to join the party?"

And that, he reflected, was pure Seritole. Superficial kowtowing to authority, while shooting sarcasm from its defence.

"Ready and willing, sergeant. I hope you brought plenty of weapons."

Her face cracked a grin, the eyes glowing in the light of the sunset behind him. She put down the kitbag she had been carrying with an ominous _clank_.

"You could say that," she smirked.

XXXXXXXX

Aine woke to his own private world of pain.

Most of it was centred, to his complete lack of surprise, on his right wrist. The flesh had thankfully been cauterised by the heat of the lightsaber, preventing bleeding that would have killed him. However, this had the disadvantage of causing his arm to feel as if it were on fire.

Biting in his lip to stop any moans, he looked up. Dank, grey rock surrounded him on all sides, punctuated by a heavy metal door near his feet. The clammy air suggested he was deep underground, the only source of light a dim glowrod in the corner, along with an empty bucket. The whole room was perhaps the same size as a LAATs cockpit.

And that was it. No jailers. No guards. No windows.

No brothers.

Aine wasn't sure if his squad had been captured as well, or if one clone had been deemed enough for whatever sick purpose he had been imprisoned for. Certainly from what he remembered, Slice would not be joining him whatever happened. A pang of sorrow stung him.

Slice had been quiet, polite, and good at his job. His original squad had been wiped out at Geonosis, along with Crash's. The two had met on the battlefield, and requested a transfer together afterwards. They had been lumped with the remainder of Aine and Zips' original Jenth squad.

This was not uncommon, and Aine had counted them all lucky to have all had the same trainer. It made interactions between the squad members easier, as well as allowing for less squabbles.

And now they had been broken. Again.

Aine had a feeling that this time they wouldn't be able to get fixed.

XXXXXXXX

They had left the base hours ago, and Anakin hadn't heard a single word from his companion since. For the naturally talkative Jedi, this was intriguing.

"So, I've seen you fly. Do you enjoy it?"

There was a grunt and a curt nod of the head. Reuma had put on her helmet as soon as they had left. The effect with the coat was slightly ludicrous unless you knew about the Corestrike Carbine concealed in its folds.

"You have a nice ship. YT model?"

Grunt and nod.

"YT has to be the best sort of freighter. I heard that you pilot a Z-95 in dogfights though."

Grunt.

"Maintaining two ships can't be easy. You must have a fair amount of money stashed away."

Grunt and a muttered, "I get by."

"Of course the Kaminoans are said to pay well..."

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"All the time," he said cheerfully.

Another grunt, verging on a groan.

"You're worse than Zip."

"Who's Zip?" he asked.

"You do this mission right an you might meet him."

_Ah, sore spot_. Anakin paused for a moment. Knowing the names of the men you were about to save could do that to you.

"So... who are the other two?"

She tilted her head towards him quizzically, perhaps surprised at his interest.

"Aine is squad sergeant and medic, Crash is the tracking and sniping expert. Zip does ordnance."

Anakin tried to be delicate, something he knew was not a strong point of his. "What about the... other one?"

Her shoulders slumped a little. "Slice. He is... _was_ the communications specialist."

He wanted to ask how she could tell it was he who died, but stopped himself. She had spent four years bringing them up, it was probably only natural that she could differentiate between them at a moments notice.

He found himself, quite unexpectedly, pitying her. He had lost people he cared about as well.

"I'm sorry."

He almost sensed her blinking. "You didn't order them there."

"My master did." He wondered if Obi-Wan felt guilty for the men he sent to die. Probably.

"You aren't him."

_Don't I know it_. "I am told that I should be."

"Whatever for?" She sounded bemused.

"He is a good Jedi," Anakin said quietly, "and very... centred. I cannot control my emotions as much as he can."

Reuma tipped her head to one side in a shrug. "Well, kid, if you want to be a Jedi I expect you'll have to learn."

* * *

**Go on. Push the little button. You know you want to.**


	4. Resourcefulness

**3: Resourcefulness**

_We were attacked and are being held prisoner. Survival rate unknown. Coordinates unknown. Possible rogue Jedi, repeat, possible rogue Jedi._

_-Message sent 1620 hours, 14/7/23, GAR standard transmitter._

Aine tucked his mini-transmitter back into his sleeve. His armour, boots and weapons had been taken- whoever his captors were they weren't stupid- but his training was enough to have made him carry backup in his jumpsuit.

A bang from the door made him jump. A narrow slit near the floor had opened, wide enough to a small metal tray. When the neither the slit nor the door opened again, he shuffled over to have a look. Nestled in two cavities were a cup of cold water and a bowl of something white that looked like mashed mushroom.

Aine was busy chewing his way through the mush and thinking longingly of Bantha steak when there was a knock on his cell wall.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Putting the cube down slowly, he edged closer to the wall and knocked back.

_Tap. Tap._

More knocks came back, this time in Galactic Code, used for quick distress signals in space.

_Who. Is. This?_

He tapped back _R. C. 3. 8. 8. 9. Who. Speaks._

_R. C. 3. 6. 6. 2._

Aine suppressed the urge to yell with glee. It was Zip.

_Injuries?_

The reply was quick. _Hurt. Head. Where. Brother?_

_Not. Known. Jailors?_

_Not. Seen. Food. Bad. You?_

Aine laughed for the first time in too long. It was Zip all right.

_Food. Worse. Plan?_

_You. Are. Boss. _

"Very funny, Zip," he muttered. _No. Known. Where. Brother. Is?_

_None. Hear. Noises. _

Aine felt chilled. _Noises?_

_Strange. Bad. Do. Not. Know._

There was a pause. _Now. What_? said Zip.

_Signal. Sent. Rescue. Maybe._

_And. If. Not?_

Aine didn't reply. He didn't need to.

XXXXXXXX

Reuma could only remember being happier once, and that had been when she was five years old. Halfway through a running battle with two B2 battle droids and a squad of hunter-killers, her transceiver had beeped an alarm for an incoming message.

As soon as she read it she had started to grin. When Anakin had asked what was going on she had handed him the message and started to whoop with glee as he read it.

"I don't understand," confessed Anakin, "why is this important? We know about the Jedi."

Reumas grin grew so wide her face hurt. "Because, kid, with the right equipment we can triangulate the signal and track it to its source. And its source is one of my vode'ika."

"We should deal with the Jedi..."

She shook her head. "If we get them first they can help us."

"They didn't do so well_ last_ time."

"They didn't have _us_ last time. We pick them up _first_."

Anakin took one look at her face and gave up. Sometimes it was quicker just to concede defeat at the start.

XXXXXXXX

Aine and Zip were exchanging information on the accommodations when the sound of footsteps echoed under the doors.

Zip banged out a quick question.

_Do?_

Aine knocked back at him _Calm. Stay. Alive. _

_You. Too. Brother._

The screech of metal filled Aines ears as the door next to his was opened. He heard a jumble of words, the scuff of bare feet on a stone floor, booted steps and receding noise. He tapped on the wall cautiously with his cup.

_Brother?_

A reply came- slowly. _Who? Signals?_

His head slumped to his chest. It wasn't Zip.

_R. C. 3. 8. 8. 9._

The reply came slowly again, as if whoever it was on the other side had no strength in their arms. _Hello. Boss. R. C. 2. 9. 9. 9._

It was Crash._ Injured?_

_Can't... Say. Through... Code._

That didn't sound good. _Bad?_

There was no answer. Either Crash was so tired and hurt that he couldn't find the energy to lift his cup...

... or he wanted to spare Aine the details of what were to come.

Aine tapped out a promise.

_We. Will. Get. Out._

There was still silence. Aine closed his eyes in readiness for the future alone.

XXXXXXXX

B-5656345, a battle droid straight from the productions lines of Cato Neimodia, was patrolling checkpoint 1224 when strange sounds started to filter up from the floor...

"_Lucky we found these before the _real_ patrols started_."

"_Master Obi-Wan has always said that the Force will provide. There is no such thing as luck_."

"_Trust me, there is. Soldiers know all about luck_."

If droids could be programmed for puzzlement then B-5656345 would have been puzzled. Even the more slightly advanced droids would have had the intelligence to investigate. Unfortunately for its masters, B1 battle droids were, like most droids, extremely stupid.

"_...can't see how you can_ prove_ its luck and not the Force._"

"_Well, take when I was on patrol back on my homeworld. Ate something funny one night and was stuck on the privy all the next day._"

"_That's not luck, that's bad cooking..._"

"_Yeah but while I was examining the back of the privy door my squad went out and got ambushed by bandits. No survivors_."

"_It could still be the Force_."

"_Kid, why would the Force be interested in my digestion?_"

B-5656345 clanked back and forth unconcerned, as the voices faded away.

"_I can hear water. Are you any good swimming?_"

"_I can float_."

"_Good enough I guess._"

"_It will have to be_."

If B-5656345 had listened later, he would have heard the sounds of two people wading through knee-deep water.


	5. Bravery through tiredness

**4: Bravery through tiredness**

_The best thing that could happen is that the wretched woman gets killed while on her mission of duty. She has caused too many problems for the Republic to mourn her._

_- Private message from Admiral Baraka to high command_

Clones rarely dreamed. For a soldier dreams are a nuisance that disturb essential periods of rest, so the Kaminoans had done all they could to make sure their creations didn't waste vital energy on useless hallucinations. There were a few anomalies, but this was only due to human imperfection. For the most part, clones spent their nights in peace.

Besides, as most military men will say, a soldier doesn't dream. He _remembers_.

In the shifting place between sleep and waking, Aine was remembering. He was remembering something that brought him comfort.

Their second sergeant- the first having been killed in a live-fire accident during training- had been, unusually, a woman. Sergeant Reuma Seritole, a medium-sized, scared, battered and foul-mouthed veteran of more than a dozen campaigns. Their training with her had been colourful, but one incident usually caused him to smile when he thought of it.

Seritole had been meticulous about campsites, insisting on a tidy area with ordered equipment. Once, when they had been practising, a fellow _Cuy'val Dar_ called Skitira had wandered in to have a look. When RC-5478 had asked their Sergeant why they had to be so meticulous, the Mandalorian had made a snide remark about women and domesticity.

The entire battalion of a hundred and forty-four clones had immediately held their breaths in anticipation of Seritoles reply. After a small pause, the crossbreed had smilingly told 78 that she was naturally tidy-minded, and that Sergeant Skitira was a chauvinistic old _di'kut_ who wouldn't know a clean camp if it "danced in front of him wearing pink nightdress and a Jedi lightsaber, calling him daddy." Things had gone downhill from there.

It wasn't the usual sort of happy memory, but Aine would always remember the end, when both sergeants had been trying not to laugh so hard they could no longer stand upright. It was this final reaction that had convinced him he needed to understand more about normal human beings.

And the one that made him wonder if he ever would.

XXXXXXXX

It was the next day that they came for him.

He knew as soon as he heard the footsteps that it was his turn. He wasn't afraid. He was angry, angry at these stupid, sadistic _aruetiise_, angry at himself, for being dense enough to be captured by them, and angry at the stupid, uncaring universe that had put him and his brothers in this impossible situation.

The door opened and he saw what two of the _aruetiise_ held between them. It didn't even raise its head, but he still knew it.

_Zip._

The wets were very careful to keep their blasters trained squarely on his face, while an awkward shuffle was performed, transferring Zip into Aines' cell and Aine himself into their custody. On the way between Aine caught a glance of his brothers' eyes.

They were as dull and blank as the droids most people thought they were.

It was at that point that Aine decided to kill the Jedi responsible

XXXXXXXX

It was a long walk, through damp grey stone tunnel, rusted metal doors, slippery smooth rock floor and dripping dank passageways that smelled of disinfectant. As they rose the air lost it's chill, becoming tolerably cool instead of unpleasantly bitter.

For Aine the journey lasted forever. The bland granite tunnels smeared into each other, becoming an endless mass of grey blur and wetness soaking his jumpsuit and bare feet. Apart from the colour, it was almost like home.

He didn't want to remember home. For clones, home was a place best left forgotten.

He wanted to rest. The anger had gone, had been left behind in the cell and now there was only an aching gloom. He just wanted it to end, for soothing darkness to come and let him sleep away all of this. All of this pain.

He only stumbled once, out of sheer exhaustion caused by poor sleep and lack of proper food. He had knocked against one of the steel doors, scraping his remaining hand in the process. The strip of raw skin stung as chill air washed over it.

XXXXXXXX

It looked like a normal interrogation room. Sarge had made sure they had had interrogation training. She had told them at least a few of them would certainly need it one day.

The chair was grey steel, with black straps. The general shape reminded him of a droideka, jagged metal, weird spikes and sharp barbs jutting at odd angles. It was probably meant to frighten as well as restrain.

It wasn't working. Aine couldn't be sure if it was bravery or just weariness that stopped him from feeling fear.

The rest of the room was unremarkable. A durasteel desk, holding needles that glinted in the light of the single glowstrip. A black datapad and a set of scanners, also black. An MD droid in the corner, photoreceptors reflecting a dim radiance that pierced the shadows. It held more scanners in its claw-like hands.

XXXXXXXX

The straps were well positioned, even he got one hand unbound it would take a great deal of time to loosen the others enough for him the break free. There was even one that held his head in place, so only his eyes could roam around the room. He didn't bother, there was nothing to see.

The guards had left. He knew they were no longer needed. Perhaps soon they would never be needed again. He wasn't sure he cared. There wasn't really any point in caring anymore.

He glanced down. The scrape on his hand was bleeding. The crimson droplets were the only colour he could see.

XXXXXXXX

A group of men and women in white coats came in. They didn't even look at him, but laughed and joked and took down the needles, activated the droid, picked up the scanners. The only one not to wear a coat was the one who hung back, an Arkanian in a dark cloak who gave Aine a small smile. For some reason he was too drained to imagine, the man looked familiar.

Blood was drawn, the data checked and assessed. One of the women was quite pretty, with curly blond hair and deep blue eyes, who smiled and teased a male colleague as she jabbed a needle in his arm and tested his red cell supply. She never even looked at his face.

XXXXXXXX

The results were checked. They nodded in satisfaction; put the scanners to one side for a moment. Various things were passed around, most got out datapads and stood in a semi-circle around his chair, as if waiting for something. He watched them calmly.

The tallest of them, an imposing woman with silvery hair, filled one of the needles with a clear serum. She stepped towards him and injected his forearm.

For a moment the universe seemed to stop breathing.

XXXXXXXX

The last thing Aine would remember wasn't even real.

It was an image of himself, suspended in the endless glow of the cloning cylinders, floating in the tiny space as he awaited birth and a life of service to others. As he watched his younger self, some unknown being reached out a hand and gently turned off the lights.


	6. Strength and honour

**5: Strength and honour**

_I said to them 'when you call, I will come'. They are my little brothers, I will look after then and I will stand by that promise. Nothing will ever make me break it. Not you, not high command, not the Chancellor himself. I never break my word. Kot bal Ijaa, the code of a true Mandalorian. _

_-Message sent to General Kenobi from an unknown transmitter _

Reuma was almost to the edge of the Separatist base when a strange feeling passed over her, almost as if the world beneath them had ceased to turn. She staggered slightly and almost dropped the glowrod she had been carrying.

Anakin looked at her with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, rasping, "They're in trouble. We need to hurry."

"But you can't have felt..." Light dawned slowly in his eyes. "You can, can't you? That's how you found these tunnels. That's why your such a good pilot. You can-"

"Don't," she gritted out. "Don't say it. It isn't important."

"But..." he saw her fists clench and shut up. It wasn't his business. "Are they alive?"

She nodded slowly. "For now. But something's wrong."

"What?"

"I don't know. But something. Something terrible."

XXXXXXXX

Aine didn't remember much of the next journey. With the light had gone much of his eyesight, his vision distorted into a haze of grey and black as he was escorted into a separate block, presumably to be monitored overnight. They didn't bother giving him a light when he dumped in his new cell. He didn't mind, really. There was, in all probability, nothing to see.

He huddled in the middle of the cold floor, truncated right arm tucked under his left. He lay and thought about things for a long time.

It had all gone wrong, from the moment they had stepped from their transports on Geonosis. He had lost half his squad, seen his templates' headless body lying on the sands as he saved the mans murderers, watched as his _Ori'vod_ was ordered into the starfighter corps and forced to leave them behind, been shot at and injured and bossed around by _aruetiise_, then ordered here, lost another brother as well as his shooting hand and was now probably going to die alone in some stinking cell.

Clones are not programmed to hate, but they are fast learners.

XXXXXXXX

"We need to split up."

Anakin looked at the Mandalorian. She had taken off her helmet, scares etched over her face in a net of silver-black lines in the harsh light of the lamps they carried. She was also staring ahead with a mixture of longing and grim determination.

"Why?" he said, "It's tactically unsound to divide forces unless you need to."

"I _know _that," she replied testily. "I just get the feeling..."

"Yes?" he asked after the pause went on a while.

She shook herself. "I just think we should. That's all."

Anakin thought a moment, reaching out into the Force for guidance. He had never been much good at that, and today was no exception. Anakin suspected it something in his nature that made him reluctant to take orders from _anyone_- even mystical energy fields.

Eventually he gave up, and decided to trust his luck. "Alright. You go after Jenth and I'll look for the Jedi. We meet back here."

Reuma didn't bother to answer, but started to walk towards the base. By the way she was holding her Corestrike any seppies that met her in the near future were going to terminally regret it.

XXXXXXXX

Crash had just started to poke around at the food slopping about the tray pushed through his door when he heard angry shouts. He felt himself smile.

Only one person he knew made people that annoyed.

XXXXXXXX

Anakin pelted down the central corridor, lightsaber making short work of any droids that got in his way. A couple of Djem So whipcracks took care of the wets stationed at the entrance of the main complex, a Soresu spin deflected the storm of blasterfire that a squad of droids released at his back.

He grinned with adrenaline as the B1s clattered to the ground in pieces. _This_ was how a Jedi fought.

XXXXXXXX

Reuma wasn't grinning when she encountered a ragged bunch of wets down one of the grimmer corridors. She had started to check the cells on either side.

What they contained hadn't been pleasant. This area seemed to be where they dumped the surplus prisoners, perhaps waiting to take them to the incinerators.

The doors hadn't been locked. There hadn't been any need.

The wets, squealing as she drew her grandfathers' dagger from her belt, had the dubious honour of being at the sharp end of her displeasure. The last one died quietly, gurgling as blood flowed from his mouth and down his chin.

Without bothering to wipe off the blood, Reuma stalked down the passageway in murderous fury. Even more than finding her little brothers, she wanted to meet the person responsible for this, and explain some things to him. At length.

As if her thought had conjured him from thin air, the robed Arkanian materialised from a side corridor. He was alone.

Reuma might have been angry, but she hadn't slipped into the berserker-rage she sometimes fell prey to. She stopped.

He raised a hand in a gesture of conciliation. "You are looking for the clones, aren't you?"

She didn't bother answering. He shrugged.

"Two of them are recovering down that corridor." He pointed to his left. "One is still prisoner in the solitary cells down there." He pointed down the corridor on the left. "I suspect we gave him too great a dosage. He might not be able to walk."

Reuma swallowed her anger. "He'll manage."

"Maybe." The other shrugged. "One way or the other I doubt I will find out. This base is doomed. Soon it will destroyed."

Her grin was predatory. "Skywalker has a habit of doing that sort of thing."

"I have no doubt of that, but you misunderstand me. Have you checked your scanners recently?"

Before she could reply, he had slipped away down another hallway. Swearing, she watched him go, helpless in the knowledge that any confrontation between them would end badly.

Stalking down towards the right-hand cells, she pulled out her scanner and glanced at it. And looked again.

She started to run.

XXXXXXXX

Aine had recovered just enough to sit upright when the Arkanian opened his door. Before he could do anything, a datapad had been pushed into his hands and the man was outside again, out of range.

"Give that to your commanders," he said. "It might help explain the readings they will find in your blood. Of course, they will probably kill you anyway, but that really is none of my concern."

Aine started to speak but the other cut him off. "However, you may die happy in the knowledge that you will die free. Freer, in fact, than any of your kind before you."

With that he left, leaving the door swinging wide open behind him.

XXXXXXXX

Anakin was almost to the research labs when he received a com call from a GAR channel. The voice over it was familiar.

"_We have a situation, commander._"

"Seritole?" He thumbed up the volume. "What situation?"

"_Have you looked at the readouts on your scanner?_"

He looked. And swore. "I have now."

"_We're on our way out of the base. I would strongly advise you to get the hell out of here._"

"What? Why?"

"_Because that is exactly what _we_ are doing, commander._"

XXXXXXXX

Reuma ran, followed at a close distance by Zip and Crash. There was one more thing to do before they went.

Or rather, one more person to collect, before the commands wired into the computer network blew the base halfway to the Core.

They found the person in question partly out of his cell, looking dazed and dizzy, but upright. The way he held the stump of his right arm nearly broke her heart, and she was thankful that her helmet hid her face.

Aine looked around, saw his brothers, and his sister, but didn't seem to recognise them. As Zip and Crash slapped him on the back and declared they were pleased to him alive, she noticed he stuffed something into the pockets she had made all her trainees sew into their jumpsuits.

She let it pass. Right now there were worse things to worry about.

"_Vode'ika_?" They turned. "Shall we continue outside?"

Zip turned to Aine. "Shall we forgo the pleasantries until a later date, sergeant? Or would you rather be plastered over the ceiling?"

Aine shrugged. His lack of reaction was starting to unnerve her.

A buzz over her helmet com stopped any questions she might have asked. "_Sergeant? You might want to move a little faster. I think the timer might be running out..._"

She touched a button near her jaw and said down her speaker, "no worries, commander. We're on our way."

The mismatched group started to sprint for the exits.

XXXXXXXX

Deep inside the bunker, an invisible clock set on an unseen deadline counted down the seconds to its own oblivion.

With immutable patience, it steadily came down to a line of zeroes. There was a moment of utter silence, as the world watched.

Then, with the beautiful calm of a star being born, the base exploded.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

"Hold still, you're making me spill it."

Zip winced as Reuma cleaned out his burns with her 'medicinal' supply of alcohol. It burned like hell, but killed germs just as well as it did brain cells.

Commander Skywalker was looking on in amusement. The sight of the 5'6 woman fussing over the 6'2 trooper struck him as unduly funny, rather like seeing a flit worrying over a Bantha. "I'm sure he can do it himself, sergeant."

Reuma scowled at him. "Not if I can do it better, commander. Now shut up and let me get on with this."

Crash was wiping down his blaster, loot from a squad of droids that had made the mistake of picking a fight with the fleeing soldiers and one Jedi. Anakin was relaxing near the entrance of their cubby-hole, trying to jury-rig one of the same droids comlinks into his own. Seppie coms had greater range, and he wasn't too proud to pass up a chance of better equipment just because it came from the enemy.

Zip watched with relief as his _ori'vod_ bandaged up the burns with a torn strip of her shirt. As he started to get up, a shadow fell across them. It was Aine.

Everyone tensed. Aine had been staying on the outskirts of the group since their escape from the seppie base, filling the atmosphere around him with a brooding silence. No-one had dared approach him.

He was holding a small, black datapad in his left hand. What was left of the other was supported in the makeshift sling Reuma had made for him. He shuffled his feet a bit before saying-

"I think you had better see what's on this, sarge."

XXXXXXXX

As they listened to the calm, pleasant voice of the datapad, Crash felt his world slip away.

"_If the people who are watching this footage are allied with the Confederacy, then what I have to say will be significant. If those who listen are allied with the Republic, then what you will hear shall only result in the death of his messenger, along with those of his squad that might have survived._

_This experiment begun on Stronghold was created in an effort to halt the main source of the Republics power- namely that of its clone troopers. Of course, this was attempted elsewhere, with biological weapons being produced to kill or incapacitate those clones unfortunate enough to fall prey to them. However, the efforts of those under the rock of this world were a little different."_

He felt Reuma breath out a sigh of relief. Whatever was going to happen, they were not about to die. Not yet.

"_The very best scientists left of the Confederacy were conferred here to Base 22 towards the end of the first year of the war. Their idea was to create a biological agent that would not only destroy the armies of the Republic, but be without cure or quarantine. Viruses were devised, but all were found to be curable. The one carried in the veins of the three we have captured is the result of six months hard labour, and is so different as to be unrecognisable as a disease. _

_But I am skipping ahead of myself. After several months of failure a breakthrough was made, not of science, but of thought. Our head researcher, one Silvia Quith, was inspired of a way to make sure that each and every clone of the GAR would become infected with our bioengineered weapon. _

_Namely this- that we would make sure every clone that fell prey to it passed it on deliberately." _

Skywalker and Reuma exchanged confused glances.

"_The Kaminoans did their job well. Each clone is programmed by genes and training to be unquestionably obedient and loyal to their masters, no matter what they are ordered to do or not do. Such is the strength of the Republic, built on the back of geneengineered slaves. But if the strands of proteins that make up this trait- the very DNA that define this slavish compliance- were to be destroyed, what then? If clones no longer obeyed, who would fight for the regime in Coruscant?_

_But that was not enough. Freedom is wonderful, but someone with a lifetime of oppression behind them might not see it that way. They might envy their more subjugated brethren, feeling that their impossible situation is less preferable than blissful ignorance. So a virus had to be made that would not only grant them freedom, but make the freedom preferable to that wondrous slavery. And it was done. The virus was created, not only to free these clones from their genes- but from _time

_Time will ultimately kill every clone far sooner than is natural for a healthy human being. Using the information provided by a renegade Kaminoan- the former head of the clone creation units, the very one who engineered such brief lives- modifications were made and a new weapon was born. _

_Look at the messenger. He is one of only three clones to have received this virus, and he will live the lifespan of a normal human being. If any one of this squad survives, then how can they resist the urge to infect others? Who could refuse to grant freedom and longevity to their brothers? This messenger spells the doom of the Republic._

_If you are allies of the Senate, then this clone is surely lost, for leaving him alive would spell your destruction. If you are a follower of Count Dooku, then hold on to this man at all costs, because in his blood is the key to our swift and sure success. The research here is lost- our work about to be destroyed- but if this messenger succeeds in escaping then our efforts will not have been in vain. _

_I hope that our creation will serve its purpose._

_Jisth Zkaqul."_

The white-eyed face on the screen faded away, leaving an awed silence. Crash felt numb.

He was free. He was going to live a normal span of life.

They were going to _kill_ him.

Reuma, rather shakily, thumbed off the screen and looked around, asking the question on everyone's mind.

"What the fuck do we do now?"

XXXXXXXX

"_Your report, Padawan?_"

Anakin cleared his throat, and stood a little straighter. "Jenth squad found and recovered, with the loss of commando RC-3454. Separatist base found and destroyed, the renegade as yet uncaptured. I'm afraid the last was unavoidable."

"_Very well, Padawan. I will confer your information to the Council. Gather your things and report to the _Nexu"

"Yes Master." He leant forward and switched off the beacon.

Jenth had already shipped out to a new mission, assigned another member to be met on the way. Reuma had requested a transfer to the squadron in their sector, and been refused. She had said goodbye the Mando way only a few hours ago.

No-one had said a word about the datapad. On the way back, the commando Crash had found a very deep chasm and thrown the wretched thing into it with vindictive pleasure. None of the rest had talked about what was on it. There was no point. All six of them knew that careless talk could cost the three survivors their lives, and so had remained silent.

Their genes had been freed, but they had not. Genes were not all that defined a being, there were loyalties, training, obligations and personal honour in the way as well. The scientists of Base 22 had forgotten that blood was not all that characterized men. They themselves did that.

They didn't have to serve the Republic. But as long as there brothers did... as long as they fought and died for another's cause... then Jenth would fight alongside them. It was not their obligation, but their duty.

_Kot bal Ijaa._ Strength and honour.


End file.
